


Acid Rain

by Kasan_Soulblade



Category: Pocket Monsters: Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire | Pokemon Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire Versions
Genre: Ableism, Atagonistic team Aqua, Disability, Gen, Mutiny, PTSD, Team Magma as protagonist, Team as Family, War, dishonorable discharge from military, disobeying superior officers and the government, injuries in conflict, living with grevious injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6889021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasan_Soulblade/pseuds/Kasan_Soulblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were broken, scarred, and scalded.  Still they held together and held each other up because when it came down to it there wasn't anyone else.</p><p>"Through hell or high water". </p><p>They'd met the first head on, and the rash enthusiasm had been beaten out of them for it. It would only be a matter of time to see if they could survive the second.</p><p>A team magma perspective, with a broken/wounded team magma, set pre game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro:  good days, bad days

It was less broken than damaged, though sporting all the requisite digits it was wholly flawed.  Between neurological and scarring and the swelling on bad days due to who knew what trauma decided to be prickly  he decided gloves were in order.  His first set, between swearing and tears, was a failure. Because the cheapest cloth didn’t have enough give and the refits showed flexibility to be sham because the give wasn’t in the right places and all the quote unquote right ones were horridly wrong.  Still he’d persisted, and some nagging and application of science had found his needs met and the disfigurement hidden and something of a grip back too.

Between surgery number three and post stitches it was pre- x-a-ray will it work now he contemplated injury and options.  Soaking the lot in cool water because cold burned and anything hotter than tepid was a nightmare he wondered if his hand would collapse under its weight of scars next treatment in, or perhaps the physical therapy that wasn’t working but aggravating the lot  make him snap and do something rash.

He’d considered the loss of limb before, played with the idea and seeing them submerged was bringing that thought up, thus he quit water and scrapped his hands over towels that’d been left pinned on the table besides the sink.  Paper, they shredded under pressure without an edge and the end result wasn’t anywhere towards dry but trying too hard left him with too much pain to care.  So he didn’t.

Still, they’d found fixes, gloves with grip and absorbency that could dry what towels couldn’t, using teeth and some bending he managed to jam the easy one in first and used his wrist and teeth and numb feeling digits  to work on the hard one through its paces.

He was swearing by the end of it, swiping fore arm over eyes, a few deep breathes later and he had fore arm pinned over eyes, once steady he let the it drop down.

Recoil meet surgery meet ineptitude of the medical system, it aligned so beautifully if you liked utter ruin that didn’t look so bad until you had to live it.

Still this wasn’t the bosses fault it’d all gone south, and the boss was part of the reason he had what he had so some of the swears were a bit wrong.  Shaking off guilt he checked bracers, first off (which was the good hand) it was thickest and the Velcro on the outside wasn’t sporting anything more dangerous than a touch of lint, the lot looked snug in place and a few harm jerks proved in steady.  As for the bad, well the metal glinted in the right spots.  It was a watch that wasn’t, a band with hooks and rods, some blunted some sharp some with crooks and crannies.  Only the sharpestof the lot were sheathed and all were pointed down and locked so they wouldn’t snag him or others.

Checkup complete (and decision pending, would he wouldn’t he, they had more resources, but when was enough enough?) he counted blessings.  Getting dressed alone, that’d been beyond him,  that was retrieved.  He had tools oddly aligned, but they never got lost, only required a thump against the wall or his side and slight scrape at the worst of it, and considering they were on his bad hand, where the pain wasn’t so bad, another blessing.  It wasn’t a bad day, there was no falling to his knees from the pain today, and those days were the worst where he fumbled phone in hooks and said he couldn’t and cried and never meant too.

So he made do, hand things made for him, and when pain had allowed he supervised what was being made for others.

Because he wasn’t the worst off.

The worse of the lot were mixed with the fumes and ashes of  a mountain named after the burial of lesser creatures.  Because, rough luck mates, it’s all they’d had, between running and staggering from loss to loss and from repercussions of the disaster, had to make due.  Still there were murmured apologies before the flames were lit and larger than normal pyre’s had been set tu burning on the fringe paths of mount Pyre,  their comrades (commanders, brother’s sisters…) souls ushered off with well wishes and a few curses because burning the dead was a nasty nasty business.

The door was voice activate, mercy there, not so sensitive as to note his voice shaking and deny him, another kindness.  So he slipped out of his quarters and went down familiar paths towards the lab.

 Once upon a time he’d of paced along the long tables his peers labored over. Hands clasped behind his back least the impulse of look see tumbled into the taboo terrain of touching.

Now he scrapped sandpaper grip of Velcro against the back of his uniform and once it was secure he slipped the dullest and broadest of his claw band against the bracer into the groove where fabric had been exchanged for leather.

It took a few fumbles, some squirming, but when the bits fit it was almost the same. He remembered the pressure of fingers curling over wrist and the itchy scrape of fabric felt more distant.  He never crossed the line past look-see anymore, the effort of simply setting his hands behind his back quelled that old impulse without the pain of trying and failing which had happened so many times before.  And if none of his underlings commented upon the rumples his repose left on his uniform, well it was another blessings, he’d quite the tally and it wasn’t even o’hundred yet.  Staff looked up from their work with acknowledgements to his presence all in different degrees of friendliness and there was a minimal amount of yawns about the lot.

Supply must of remedied that decaff guafe then, he’d haveto congradulate the lads in charge for fixing that up fast.

“So private.”  A nod, to the sole table that had one guard and one civilian, the later staring at him wide eyed. He ignored the adolescent, considered the crimson clad one of his own.  “How are you and out associate getting along today?”

Said associate had spared a glance at his arms, eyes bugging as the bracer had pushed back the sleeve just so to show some scarring, but after a moment managed to click their mouth shut.  Better recovery time than most, a point in their favor.

The country band some play on hick and chick half faded and thread bear was a mark against them.  Not that he’d say anything to indicate it aloud, but their taste was questionable but he’d spare them comment.

They hadn’t been brought on board for their skills at hacking a pa system after all, though rumor held the Superior had caught them doing just so in protest of some corporate (and corrupt) meeting in another region.

“Well… Mr. Tabitha… we’ve.. well they’ve got some progress…  I mean…”  The girl took a deep breath, obviously trying again.  “Tabitha, sir, they’ve made remarkable progress on their voice recognition system, sir.”

“Lets’ see it then.”

The child (because they were five years before their majority and a bit younger than that upstairs some days) pushed wires and circuitry aside, a glass plate not too dissimilar from a scanning span sported by most registers was propped then tipped up looking all the world like it was posed to take a selfie.

Save this wasn’t a phone, there was no buttons to push, and the young soldier went to the other side of the mess of wires to dig out a switch.  One click and the child wad signing and the thing was speaking, the voice honey sweet with only the slightest of jerks when finger spelling not gestures were implemented.

“It’s going good T-A-B-I-T-A- how are you - question mark-“

Lips quirking he had to ask.  “Question mark?”

Fingers flicked and the light, not red and glaring but so soft and pale it danced on the edges of visibility went in motion.

“it –apostrophe- ess a work in progress –period-“

“Better than what’s in the market, and if you can’t fix the punctuation enunciation perhaps stop would be a better substitution for period, medical’s going to have to use the thing after all.”  Tabatha passed both judgment and suggestion with an easy smile.  “Also look up apostrophe for me would you, I don’t think its meaning’s changed but I _could_ be wrong.”

Commandeered asset, fresh sprung from their cell when the police car to Viridian had been… ah intercepted… blushed, clearly the sensitive type.  He’d have to shield them from Courtney if he could… her particularities could come across as scathing if you didn’t know her very well.

“So next week same time, and send me an email if you need more time or whatnot.”

The child nodded, neither boy or girl though that distinction hadn’t been found out until they’d rounded up someone with enough sense to snap up a soft felt tipped pen and spare paper and some legibility to their scrawl to bloody well ask what was up with all the sulking.  Thus Tabitha was being very careful with his word usage, a protracted apology to compliment the one he’d given right after he’d shoveled his foot into his mouth.

Because for a man with no working hands it’d been impressive he’d managed to do that shoveling in the first place all things considered.

Also repetition and habit, he wanted to grind this new sensitivity in, not out, so he’d avoid assumptions and mistakes in the future.

A shrug and scrape as Velcro came loose and he had the hand with a wrist watch that did so many other thigns free, he informed them of the hour and dismissed them from their tasks.  And if their lunch hours overlapped and if the young guard had made it so that hers would overlap with the young mx’s… well that was thier business until they made it his.  Or well the young ladies supervisor who’d report it to him… if it went that far anyways.

Seeing them off without following them out he paced about a few more tables, and hands free he itched to touch even though sense bared him.  It was holding up enough that he wouldn’t have to risk the wraith of lint on his sleeves, so it seemed safe enough.  Thermal generators were a multitude, considering where they lived that was reasonable, one ash energy converter seemed more ambition and mess than success but by the sooty notes they’d left out it seemed to be doing a little bit better thus he wouldn’t recommend it be scrapped.  It was the last table, empty of notes, left behind id badges, and other signs of ownership that he paused at, and breaking off with his customary joviality he _swore_ at the thing perched atop it.  Centered, they’d centered it.

Sighing Tabitha shrugged, a head tip and click against his ear told him that the thing was on speaker.

And there was no need to type in numbers it only had one contact saved.

“Sir.”  He sighed, a bit bitterly because why not.

“What’d they use this time?”

“Well… it’s not paper”  he defended the lot as best he could knowing either him or Courtney would be set to scanning over cameras to find out who, perhaps playing lenient would get him out of the chore.  “Or paper mache.  So that part of the memo was heeded at least.”

“Admin.”  Let it not be said that the Boss minced words.   Because he never ever did.

“They smuggled in playdoh in.”  It’s…”  words words he was fighting for them and the inane urge to giggle.  Dare he he’d be on camera duty so he tried not to but blast it all it was hard.  “It’s quite… uh psychladelic?  Not too flammable though, another plus.”

 

Considering they lived in a volcanoes for Enties sake no one ever said anything wasn’t flammable.  Not after quite  a few imported tech that was guaranteed to never over heat had done just that. Flamablae was about as taboo as black persians, three leaved clovers, and the number thirteen.  Because there’d been an incident, with flames nad thirteen and the cost of all those fire extinguishrs and the smell of their residue when it’d crusted…

He shuddered in remembered trama.

Not all legends were of the goodly kkind.

“the _rest_ of the inspection.”

Rescued from remembrance he rattled of results, of the table in front of him.

“Composite Sir, in Roy G Biv.  Inverse for the tunnels.”

“Of the rest of the departments!”

It was less he’d never learn and more the opportunity was too good to pass up.

“I’ll dictate it to you in,”  considering the wrist watch that wasn’t, “three hundred, psudo skype.”

Because while criminal they didn’t dare use commercial and well naming wasn’t their tech department’s best skill.

“Acceptable.”

A click and the line went dead.  While most considered it rude to be hung up on Tabitha understood.  For a man to be haring about in an ash choked battle field there were consequences.  And that haring (and mutiny, and commandeering of golbats and camelrupt because that’d been the tail end of the supply chains and no one’d cared about) had saved lives that been meant to be sacrificed for a political falsehood.

This when the man’s voice had cracked, caught, nearly coagulated, Tabitha got it.

And accommodated.

Twenty minuets to catch breath, the same to puke up if it went that far, a two minute walk to infirmary and back to quarters to swill down meds, though soup would be better tea’d be more likely and if any spills from shakiness some generosity set aside for shower and uniform change.

Tabitha wasn’t the only one with bad days after all.


	2. From here to there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Tabi' and just snapshot of adjustments in his life he made to make life keep working out for him. 
> 
> Minor mention at end of disease, possibly triggering, since sickness isn't going to be a major aspect of this fic I'm not going to make a big tag for it on fics top, I figure this warning note at the top will be enough.

He didn’t shake hands because he couldn’t, bobbed through introductions like a little girl, and though doing so conveyed respect in a tone he was painfully unsuited he did so because it was the only way left physically and he was a man of much physicality.  So he fumbled with gestures that couldn’t be altered to fit like gloves and though him doing them supposedly made the lot his the flush over his features and the lingering sense of shame left him feeling both young and foolish.

Few understood the why he was so.  With his gloves and with care he could seem whole, the kindest smiled awkwardly and shied away as soon as they could.  Those that’d talk to him, anyways.  Those who knew of him and knew what was for their own good usually turned him out on their door the second they could make out the shape of his face.

So he learned to travel a lot because you shouldn’t cook when your cooking made the team’s Camerupt sick (and how that had happened when their internal organs housed lava in the steed of digestive juices was something he didn’t want to think about) and wheedled reasons for needing to be out when those friends who did know and understood looked weary of his presence.

So he traveled, tagged about as muscle for escorts though he wasn’t in the traditional sense and his first travel out had been one night because pokeballs weren’t meant for those lacking dexterity much less the extreme swings he went through daily with  his  tactile sensitivity.

Thus he kept his strongest and most loyal by his side, part of the scouting and scavenging group’s supply went towards Camerupt feed which ranged from ash saturated dried meats to the occasional bushel of thistle and a sack of barriers as an evening treat.  Both partook of the last, though Tabitha chose to skip the charring his Camerupt flavored his with an over enthusiastic flamethrower.

Thinking of treats some youngling was walking their Poochenya, chattering about the nearest town and the distant family they were hoping to check in with.  Though the young woman’d been estranged from the lot a while she was hoping (and in speaking of her hopes trying to drum up some courage) for the upcoming meeting.

“I just don’t get how they think we’re the bad guys here, I mean we do things…”

A shift of his hips, he swung one leg over his ‘rupt’s not flaming hump, then the other, first because the girl talking and not looking at her would be rude, and second because the poor ‘mon had listed to the side, clearly in complaint of having too much weight on that side for too long.  A flick of his numb hand and the right hook came off its holster, also two wrong hooks, but bringing the lot to his lips and a nip or two tucked the bad in.

“Snack?”

Startled the kid looked up from road and rambling monologue to give her superior a small smile.

“Nah, thanks though T- uh Sir.”  Though the hood and uniform obscured a lot demeanor and the forced military titles spoke of this one being young enough not to have been in actual service during.

Unlike a few of the higher brass he didn’t regret it, found something of savor to the fact that this was one of the few life didn’t decide to try it’s damnedest to screw over, governmental wise.  Though from the girl’s papers she was to be barred from seeking certain members  of that family, he went over what she’d said and the taboo name hadn’t come up.  Safe to encourage then, so he did with a small smile.

“So how old’s this littlest brother of yours?”

That got the kid, or private, depending on how formal and how close Leader Maxie was around, back on track and by smile as their thoughts took to a more pleasurable path.

As for paths, well  it wasn’t a complaint but Camerupt did lift his hoof up to indicate the black rock jammed between steel and his toe before carefully drawing the limb close, his neck out, then scraping the lot off with his blunted teeth.

“Snack?”

 He offer was met with lip licking and with only that scant encouragement and justification wiggled tool amongst knots and unhooked the barriers.  One for him, one tossed ahead and to the side, a puff of smoke and embers and snap of teeth told him cooking and eating had happened before gravity had kicked in in full and made the lot jelly.  Another toss, more up and him leaning back and he had his treat, a look down and never mind species that was a brilliant play of the Arcanine eyes he’d ever seen.  Such enthusiasm should be rewarded and thus another toss another ember (more flame than smoke a squeak from some startled underling stopped ember from blossoming into a full flame thrower) the days last snack was indulged.

Firmly never minding the Arcanine eyes canted up his way Tabitha retied the bag as best his hook attachment allowed, a loopy sort of knot that while not taunt  had enough akin to weaving that even if it tumbled upside down it’d catch most of the spill and a flip back towards normal would send the bulk back on.

 Heaving a sigh Camerupt rolled his wide oily eyes skyward and kept trooping on, as for the trooper who’d nearly been singed she patted her head and seeing top and horn attachments weren’t smoldering brushed off a few flakes of ash with a laugh.  One of the perks of being in Team Magma is you got used  to singes and burns pretty quick. 

Fending off over enthusiastic comrades, all armed with burn heals and a few sporting water bottles (though the last really only worked the occasional unruly ‘mander or Growlith) the grunt managed to get them all to heel, something that her Poochyena was doing marvelously at her feet and was waving his tail high because he was being a good example when all the humans about it just weren’t’.

“Son, really, you’ve going to seriously pull the trigger on that?”

Because despite the fact the lot of this escort were civilians he wasn’t, it crept into his tone and demeanor when he was amused more often than not.  And really, what wasn’t amusing about a fourteen year old wielding a squirt bottle you used on to hydrate say the desk top fern against a creature that was touting his two hundred plus bulk and two weeks’ worth of supplies without even noticing the lot was there most the time?

“Ummm well ahh…”  And forget feature obscuring hoods and garb the kids chin and jaw line were scarlet it was more than likely his face was matching suit.

“What about you put that away.”  Camerupt turned his head, adding glower to owners jocularity.  “And just keep forward marching?”

Since they were technically on leave Tabitha couldn’t really order, just suggest unless it was a crisis of some sorts or their Leader had set certain things in place before they had set out that he was to tend to while they were on the road.  Sher stupidity however, well he couldn’t order someone not to do something stupid, but he could point it out and let the person draw what they could from the experience.

“Mauvile’s not last stop, just a supply pick up, so unless you want to be carrying your trampled supplies to and then back across the dessert to our base then please, go right ahead.”

Silence, pallor stole vibrancy from previous flush and perhaps his Camerupt’s glower had something to do with it (that and the smoke wreathing it’s blunted teeth) but the boy did put the spray bottle away and decided to forward march to the front of the column.

Good for him, hopefully he’d do as much thinking as marching, if he didn’t, well that’s what burn heals were for.

A babble of baby talk caught his attention; the once heeling Poochyena was sprawled on its belly, legs kicking, and while it was a bit unorthodox maneuvers to march while carrying a ‘mon youngling style… Well they weren’t on duty.  And he wasn’t going to order anything per say.

Still Private Patricia was not going to be on the official supply group, those poor unfortunate souls who’d be shackled to his side while he went through niceties of interacting with those who simply didn’t get it.

He’d likely have her slotted into civilian observation duty, negotiate some of his leave time to be tabbed onto whoever was amiable to a duty swap, perhaps take a cooking round or some small chore off their hands to sweeten the lot.

Well, maybe not cooking, if another group had to be “rescued” because they were down due to chronic indigestion and it got traced back to him he’d be due for something a bit more sterner than a formal reprimand in front of the squad again.

Deciding to make up his mind over dinner (that someone else would cook, that’d be the wisest route of all) and to talk to said volunteer (or victim depending on how stingy this lot were about their free time) then he toned out babble that was scaling into the dangerous “squee” zone  and with a nudge of his knee, and a rub really because his hands weren’t really suited for affection any more, got both his ‘mon to pick up pace and rumble out in contentment at once.

Smiling at the two for one, and shifting a bit because though cross saddle wasn’t his preferred form of sitting it’d do, he just had to be careful of saddle he clucked and a nudge rub got them swinging off the path and paralleling, leaving smoldering footprints in their wake.

“Come on troop!  This is not a mass leave -“  Blank looks, right, civilians, “picnic.  Form up those lines and march! I watched over all of your assessments before you were put into this unit and I know that the lot of you can at least manage a _somewha_ t straight line, so let’s do it.”  One rebel, or perhaps sensible lad in the mid column had hood down and was hydrating himself, though ab bit snappish he made a point to comment on the uniform not the drinking as long as the boy didn’t stagger into anyone else he was free to drink so long as it was water and he wasn’t drinking himself sick. 

Though Mauville was technically two days away they lived in a world of cameras, social media, and with the uncomfortable yet useful trait of every phone having a camera on it.  One trainer at the right time could spill an identity, snap a picture of some youth with their hood and face cloth off and, while not complete social suicide to be of Magma it could warrant a rehabilitation abduction attempt effort from some misunderstanding family member at best.

At worst…  Well he’d had to bury some of the more wildly optimistic in his time as second in command.

He’d be damned if this time and with this lot either or occurred.

“Rest stops twenty minutes from here, if we quick march,” and sunset was in fifteen, they’d been in caverns darker than night by Mauvile, they’d be fine.  “Strongest ‘mon out, preferably fire, no battles until first shifts decided and in place and not near the tents!”

The last had a few sniggers amongst this unit, understandable since he’d lost his tent and bed roll last outing out to his own Camerupt’s over enthusiastic fireblast.  Ignoring the chortle-grumble under his legs Tabitha tried for stern and let it fade into something like a smile.  It’d been a damned awkward trip, that last, but he’d managed and without commandeering some younglings tent though a few of the more thoughtful ones had shredded uniforms and spare clothes to serve as pseudo gloves since the bulk of his had gone up with his bedding .  Since there hadn’t been one could who could sew in the unit they’d commandeered some poor roadside trainer’s stapler and…

Well he’d worn them, pride taking off the edge of his pain or so he’d told them.

Medical had had his hide for the stunt.  Considering sensitivity and insensitivity, he’d been raw and red and bleeding all at once.  In the end he’d been sporting small pockets of infection where the staple’s had swung up and dug in and it being the numb hand he hadn’t known until when some grunt was changing bandages they’d found yellow mixing with red and finally bound his hands together and thus he’d been presented to both medical and leader.  Some bizarre parody of a pennant with the sin and without the repentance, his thoughts had gone off in odd directions when the fever had settled in for the worst...

Both had taken swipes at his pride, calling him a fool and worse, threatened with demotions that hadn’t happened and medical treatments that had.

And had hurt worse than hell.

Still he smiled, let them laugh at what they didn’t know and though from the side guided them forward, counting from corner of his eye as he paced alongside and indulged a fuller one head on when the road bended sharp enough that the whole got to pass him as he and his Camerupt picked a less steady path that was still parallel and requiring of care.

A click and tap indicated indulgence count was done, thus the quadpad took a leap, at hop and jag’s end and the beast looked back to make sure his rider was secure then clattered off complimenting path to join the rest.  They took the rear since plowing ahead would scatter the lot about him and shove the younglings off edges which was something Tabitha did not want.

And though it wasn’t hands, the bluntest widest hook had something of a finger's tenderness to it when it scratched right behind one if his floppy ears just right.


End file.
